snippets of life
by breathing is over-rated
Summary: Just little unrelated stories about life in and around Baker Street. Will have Sherlock/John and Jim/John slash and probably more besides. Don't like, don't read.
1. Techno Fan

**AN-** I really don't know what is wrong with me. Don't quite know what will happen yet but I expect that each little story will be unrelated.  
>I still don't own sherlock, I know, it's shameful<p>

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><p><strong>Techno Fan<strong>

If there was one thing John Watson didn't expect, it was probably this. On a club dance floor with a lanky dark haired man next to him. Ok, so they'd had a few drinks, or maybe slightly more than a few, but that wasn't the point. Sherlock Holmes, the most isolated and detached man in existence, was dancing with John, most ordinary man in the world. The doctor couldn't quite believe it, but he wasn't going to stop and think for a second just because Sherlock had finally knocked down a few hypothetical walls. This was much more fun.

Another surprising fact was that the detective liked pop music. He frequently changed favourite band. At the present time he liked The Wombats. Which would go halfway to explaining why he was singing, very well in fact, the song currntly playing;

'_Shut up and move with me, move with me or, or get out of my face.  
><em>_I didn't queue for an hour to leave straight away.' _

This was as carefree as the blond had ever seen his flatmate. The both men had grins spread across their faces, lighting the fires behind their eyes. Sherlock offer the other his hand.

'_Shut up and stay with me, stay with me or, or let go of my hand,  
><em>_The lasers fill our minds with empty plans.' _

John took the hand without a second thought, letting himself be carried away by the music and his old, yet somehow completely new, friend. The soldier found himself joining in, seemingly unable to stop himself;

'_I never knew I was a techno fan.' _

Dancing with the detective was like floating on a cloud. The doctor felt lighter than air, never could it be said that Sherlock didn't know how to dance. John decided that the chances that there was anything in the world that his flatmate couldn't do were so slim that it would be easier to just say the man could do anything and leave it at that.

John came back to his senses to find he was quite a lot closer to Sherlock than he had been before, something in him told him to stop before he did something he'd regret. That annoying little voice was quickly squashed by a pair of lips crushing against his own. Happily, he returned the favour._ God the man could kiss_. John had never been someone who could be called shameless, but, with his hands currently under his flatmates shirt, he was pretty damn close. Sherlock, however; had always been known as shameless and didn't fail to disappoint this reputation, his hands quickly found their way down the back of the shorter mans trousers. Though John was oblivious, something to do with being drunk, Sherlock clearly heard the whooping sounds from the people behind them. He never wanted the moment to end and yet he broke away and turned to see who was behind him. John quickly looked round his friend to see what the fuss was about then promptly stepped away from the other man in a flustered manner. In the haze he had completely forgotten why they were both in a night club in the first place. Greg Lestrade walked over, closely followed by one Sally Donavan and One serpent-like idiot. The DI seemed genuinely happy while the other two looked somewhere between disgusted and planning how to use this to their advantage.

'I knew inviting you to my birthday would be a blast.'

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><p>The doctor soon realised that every police officer in Scotland Yard had attended and every single one was now of the opinion that he and his flatmate were shagging. It was a few weeks before the blond found out about the bets. If it wasn't for him walking in on a 'meeting' he would never have known.<p>

'Ok then, bets on our lovely John? Who votes for the soldier boy?' Several notes were passed round, 'Now we'll have the bets on the controlling bastard also know as Sherlock.' There was a flood of notes passed to the front.

'What the hell is going on here?' John asked, mortified. The police all whipped their heads to face him at the same time. Sergeant Donavan was more than happy to answer,

'We're taking bets on who tops.' She smirked at his naïve expression. 'You know, you, Sherlock who's the dom? Come on tell us, I know I'm right with this one.' John blushed violently and felt his throat tighten to the extent that he couldn't speak. At the same moment his flatmate appeared behind him, took one glance at the police force and grinned.

'John, of course.' He then took the blonds hand and pulled him from the room. They hadn't kissed properly since the drunken thing at the party and the detective had been itching to rectify that situation. John didn't put up a fight, Sherlock knew exactly what he was doing. The man hadn't drunk anything at the party, John would never tell him he knew but he did. The 'meeting' had since erupted into various vivid conversations. Surprisingly or not, John found he couldn't care less. The Wombat's were definitely his favourite band, and they would be Sherlock's' for some time to come as well.

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><p><strong>AN-<strong> I know, I'm so sorry for those who read this. Next one should be up soon  
>My enternal love goes to those who review :)<p>

B  
>x<p> 


	2. cause and effect

**AN-** Don't ask where this came from because I honestly don't know.

Anyway, enjoy!

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><p><strong>Cause and effect<strong>

An interesting fact about John. He has a large tattoo that spreads across his back. The blond covers it well and you wouldn't know it was there unless he showed it. Sherlock was one of the few to know of its existence. He still subconsciously trails the ink lines when they are together, the man had memorised every twist and turn til he could trail the pattern while his flatmate was wearing clothes. The effect was something spectacular. At first John would try to ignore him, then he would begin to fidget. He would begin to blush until he had reached breaking point then he would turn suddenly and drag the detective out of the room and pinning him against the wall. The next five minutes were spent in a bright white bubble of their own. The world outside seemingly forgotten.

Unfortunately for John, the flatmate had decided to conduct this little experiment while solving a case in Scotland Yard. Now the stares they received were slightly different in nature, more bashful since the entire police force now knew, or at least thought they knew, what the pair got up to behind not so closed doors. When the two men had got back, Sherlock was expecting the worlds biggest lecture, what he got was week of the silent treatment and an indeterminable amount of time sleeping in his own bed. Without John. Never let it be said that the doctor won't follow through with his threats. The soldier had planned to go two weeks but on the eighth night he woke up in the middle of the night to find himself handcuffed to the rails at the end of the bed with his lanky, half naked, flatmate on his chest.

'Wha- Sherlock. What the fuck are you doing?' The soldier squirmed and tried to break free, knowing pretty quickly that escape wasn't going to be an option.

'I can't take his anymore. I will have you again. If this is the only way, then so be it.' With that, the taller male slid slowly down his captives body until he was straddling John's hips. The soldier bit his lip to stop himself moaning. This, of course, was noticed by the detective and he ground their hips together. This time the blond couldn't bite back the indignant sound which past his lips. Sherlock chuckled darkly,

'My, John, it seems that you have been feeling deprived too.' He leant forward and nipped the others ear before unbuttoning his pyjama top and trailing kisses round his collar bone.

'Sherlock, I'm not altogether sure that you're respecting me.' The doctors voice was an octave higher than usual.

'No, I'm not.' Sherlock said, bluntly, 'But this would never have happened if you hadn't decided to ignore me all week.' Now the buttons were undone, the pyjama top was roughly shoved up to the blonds' elbows.

'Sherlock.' John panted, 'This is no way to go about things. Let me go now and I promise not to ignore you.' The man on top of him sat up, purposely grinding their hips together as he did, and made a show of pretending to think about the proposal. Then his eyes flickered back to the soldier as he quickly ridded the man of his remaining clothes. The detective put his mouth close to the others ear as he removed his own clothes.

'I don't think so. This time, you're mine.' The pure lust in his flatmates voice stumped the doctor. Thinking back, he realised that, when it came to the bed room, he'd always been the more dominant. It was something he hadn't notice before. Obviously, Sherlock had. And now it was pay back time. John suddenly found that his legs had somehow wrapped round his partners waist, his partner who was at this point staring straight into the pit of his soul and lining the two of them up. He picked up the lube, which was conveniently placed next to them and looked at it carefully before throwing it carelessly over his shoulder. John tried to speak but his lips were suddenly occupied by the others red hot lips. At the same moment, his head burst with white light. His lips were suddenly free and he couldn't stop the words that seemed to tumble from them, mostly incoherent, and yet Sherlock seemed to understand them somehow as he began thrusting harder and faster. John knew he wasn't going to last. The pain lasted longer than usual, most likely on account that the bastard now fucking him had decided to not use lube. The white behind his eyes seemed to have decided it was going to stay put as he was rocked into by the detective. The solider fell over the edge with a cry and his partner followed him soon after. His captor pulled out gently then fell onto the bed next to him. They were both panting hard and the doctor knew full well that he wasn't going to be able to walk properly and Sherlock was going to pay for that later but for the moment at least, he was happy to just lie with the insufferable detective snuggling up to him. They were both too tired to do anything other than sleep, though John knew that his shoulder would be stiff when he woke.

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><p>The light danced round John's room, waking the doctor up. He tried to move but was halted by the cuffs. <em>I'm still tied to the bloody bed!<em> The man next to him chuckled as he moved to look his flatmate in the face.

'Have a nice night?' He asked sweetly.

'Sherlock. Untie me then get out.' This was met with puppy dog eyes, a look the detective had mastered. 'I mean it, Sherlock. Untie me then I'll give you five seconds to get out.' Much to the doctors surprise, his partner did as asked and soon John was alone in his room. He winced as he got of the bed, everywhere ached. He slowly made his way over to the bathroom and had a rather long, cold shower. When he had finished, he hobbled back into his room and managed to put on some clothes.

Once down stairs, he was greeted by his flatmate, who was in a better mood than he had been for at least a month. John scowled as he was handed a cup of tea and hobbled to his chair, relaxing into the seat. Every wince, hobble and gasp was met with a snigger or crooked smile from the lanky detective. After a couple of hours, John was finally able to walk without wincing or having to stop, which was good because they had just received a text from Lestrade saying there was a case. A case needed _both_ of them. Muttering curses, the soldier grabbed the nearest jacket and followed the far to happy man out of the flat. When they got home, John promised himself that he was going to make _that man _wish they had never met. He was going to make the detective beg for mercy. As a doctor and a soldier, John was someone who didn't fall back on a promise.


	3. Jim's doctor

**AN-** This is only a short one

Enjoy

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><p><strong>Jim's Doctor<strong>

Jim looked at the man currently out for the count on his bed. He had been planning on mangling the soldier then dumping the corpse of his old friend Sherlock's doorstep, but for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to do it. It wasn't that he was going soft, after just dismantling a foreign police force and terminating half the staff, he couldn't really be accused of turning nice. The mastermind let his fingers trace the doctors face. The blond was attractive, in a mundane almost normal sort of way. That couldn't be why Jim had a sort of soft spot for the sleeping man in front of him. It was only when you looked under the boring pedestrian life that you saw the real John Watson. The man who saved lives and still managed to kill, the man with a near perfect aim. He carried a gun round with him and yet, stops himself from using it unless absolutely necessary. He was a truly amazing person and, on top of all that, he had managed to make the worlds only consulting detective, and the worlds only consulting criminal, fall head over heels for him. That was he biggest achievement. The man started to stir, then opened his eyes.

'Good Morning, pet, I trust you slept well?' The way John's eyes flew open and he pounced off the bed was almost comical. 'Calm down, dearest, you know you won't be able to leave until I say so. Relax.' His stance subtly changed to that of a caged animal as he back against one of the walls, eyes scanning for any possible exit. Once he knew he wasn't getting out, his gaze turned to his captor. His thoughts were mapped out clearly on his face. _Why aren't I dead yet? Why is he staring at me like that. Why are we in a bedro- Oh. Oh God. Shitshitshitshit_. Jim smiled, like a predator closing in on it's prey, and slowly made his way over to the blond man. His captive was still far too drugged up to do anything to stop the Irishman's clear advances and they were both suddenly enveloped in an all consuming kiss. Jim had made sure to have a hint of a suggestive drug in a little cocktail that his doctor had been injected with, clearly the substance was working it's magic as the soldier was returning his kiss, their tongues battling each other for dominance. Jim pulled away first, it was far too early in the day for this sort of thing. He planted his lips on the others forehead then left the room. The largest criminal organisation in the world doesn't run its self, you know. And, besides, it was time Sherlock Holmes knew just what the stakes were in this little game of his.


	4. Last Night

**AN-** I'm terrible sorry for this one, it's slightly longer than the other fics.

Basically, John and Sherlock through a party at the flat and Mycoft, Anthena, Jim and Anderson attends. Every get roaring drunk and can't remeber what happened the night before.

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><p><strong>Last Night<strong>

_Uh, my head. Sherlock was right, alcohol is evil. _John tried to think about the events of the last ten or so hours and drew a blank. He sat up and put his head in his hands and the headache spiked behind his eyes.

'For God's sake, who took the covers?' John raised his head slowly and turned to the man who was in the bed next to him. _Oh shit._ Jim stared at him, mirroring the horrified look.

'Please tell me we didn't…' The criminal looked down, their clothes were strewn carelessly across the floor,

'I don't know. I hope not.' John nodded, Sherlock was nowhere in sight, which was probably for the better.

The doctor got out of the bed and picked up his clothes, he looked back at the bed when he felt eyes boring into him.

'What the hell?' He asked, feeling suddenly quite self-conscious. Jim shrugged,

'I can see why I went for you, I've got a soft spot for war-hardened army veterans. Especially those with muscles.' Jim got out of the bed himself and pulled himself flush against the soldier, who tried to push him away and failed miserably.

'Wha-What are you doing?' The doctor asked as he was pushed back onto the bed, clothes forgotten. Moriarty chuckled and pushed the other man back so that he leaned against the headboard.

'I thought it was obvious what I was doing. If you need more hint though, I'll be happily to supply them.' With a wink, the consulting criminal nipped at the soldiers neck then shimmied his way down the well muscled chest til he was just below the naval. John moaned loudly and Moriarty chuckled.

'Do you want me to stop?' This was met with the dead eye and Jim smiled. He kissed the tip of the doctors member, smirking with glee as the older man scrabbled at the sheets beneath him. The madman took Johns cock further into his mouth and swirled it slightly with his tongue, humming at the groan emitting from the other male.

The soldier soon found his hands latched onto the consulting criminals hair, forcing more of his length into the others mouth. Jim gagged slightly and John smirked,

'Am I too much for you to handle?' He jibbed through shaky breaths. The dark haired criminal scraped his teeth along the flesh, 'Fuuu- Jim you sly, evil- gah!' The maniac's chuckle vibrated against John's skin and the man threw his head back, thrusting his hips up violently. He wasn't going to last much longer and the Irishman seemed to know it as he impaled himself on the doctor. It didn't take much more for John to lose himself completely as he yelled the psychopaths name at the top his voice while Jim's mouth filled with a salty liquid which he swallowed. The consulting criminal let the limp member fall from his lips then turned his attention to licking the other man clean.

'Jim, stop.' John whimpered, sitting up. Moriarty moved back up so he straddled the others waist, he leant in and pressed his lips to the soldiers own. John spluttered and tried to move back but found himself pressed up against the headboard.

'Oh, Johnny, you know you like it really. Come on, give me another go.' The voice was whiny, much the same as a petulant child.

'Um, no. Thanks Jim, but-uh well I just don't swing that way.' The consulting criminal laughed.

'Sure, sure. And you totally didn't enjoy what just happened, you weren't grabbing hold of me like there was no tomorrow-' Moriarty was only a hairs breadth away from the doctors face now, '-and you definitely not getting aroused again.' John gulped and this was taken as an invitation for the Irishman to abuse his lips again.

'What the _hell_ are you doing?' Both men jumped and whipped their heads round to tall figure standing at the door.

'Uh, Sherlock. Um, I can explain-' Before John could continue, a topless Anderson walked into his line of sight and wrapped his arms round the detectives waist. The soldier was gob-smacked,

'Will somebody please tell me what the fuck happened last night?' The detective smiled,

'If you want to see something really freaky, follow me.' Jim got off the blond. 'But you might want to get some clothes on first.'

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><p>Two minutes later, the four men walked into the living room and froze. Sherlock's sofa had been overtaken by a mass of limbs. It took John a moment to realised that the limbs in fact belonged to a passed out Mycroft with a half naked Lestrade on top and a seemingly completely naked Athena between them<p>

'Holy shit' John cussed. As it turned out, all three of the figures on the sofa were light sleepers. They each stared at each other until Mycroft spoke,

'Well… It appears we are in slightly compromising positions.' Sherlock snorted which drew the attentions of the three. Greg and Athena leapt off the elder Holmes and quickly dressed again.

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><p>Once everyone had dressed, the group sat round each other. Mycroft and Lestrade sat on the sofa with Athena on the government workers knee and her legs spread across the DI's lap. Anderson sat cross-legged on the floor with Sherlock's head rested on his thigh. John sat in his chair with Jim on his knee, snuggling close to the doctor. Lestrade spoke first,<p>

'So…Ok…Well, we got very drunk and this happened. That's done now, and I have to say I can't believe the mess it's gotten us in to, but the nest question is 'What do we do now?' Any idea's?' The room became silent again.

'Do we have to do anything?' Jim asked, 'I'm fine with how this is now.' To prove his point, the man planted a kiss to the doctors reddening cheek.

'I have to say, I agree.' The detective drawled. 'I quite like this, though there is someone we have to get rid of before it can stay this way.' He was tapped playfully by the forensic detective behind him,

'You are not killing my soon to be ex wife, Sherlock.' The younger Holmes pouted, an expression the was soon wiped off by a passionate kiss. Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose with contempt,

'Oh, for the love of- I really can't believe any of you. John, have you forgotten that the man you're cuddling just happens to be the most wanted man in the world, Sherlock and Anderson, you two have hated each other since I don't know when.' John narrowed his eyes,

'Yes, but what about you three, hmmm? I'm pretty sure that you were having more than just a nice friendly chat.' The government worker sighed,

'That may be true but this is not our first, in fact, it has been some what a regular occurrence for quite some time now.' The DI blushed violently and looked away as the shocked expression feel on the four men. Jim tutted playful then nipped John's ear, making the man yelp. The mastermind sniggered,

'Well, I don't particularly care what any of you do. For me and Johnny, however; it's going stay like this.' The soldier tensed slightly,

'Do I get a say in this?' Moriarty tapped his nose,

'No, you don't.' John nodded and relaxed again.

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><p>In the end, the group decided that they rather enjoyed the way things went and so, the world noticed some changes. Anderson and Sherlock still bickered like an old married couple but the jibes were completely harmless. Sherlock would often pounce on the forensic detective in front of the entire force, much to the mans protesting squawks. For Lestrade, everything was just about the same, though Mycroft and Athena did seem to like to show up at a moments notice. John's life changed the most. Jim moved in to the flat, or more specifically, his room. The consulting criminal still ran the world wide organisation, he just didn't kill anyone in London. Where ever the doctor went, his psychopath followed, which was rather funny at crime scenes. Jim would laugh at the stupidity of Scotland Yard and he and Sherlock would wind each other up and usually end up having a insult match. John and Anderson often had to prize the two consultants apart, ask any police officer how they did it and you would be confronted by a host of blushing faces.<p>

So yes, the world did change considerably in the space of just one drunk night, though whether it was for the better remains to be seen.

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><p><strong>AN-<strong> As I said before, sorry for that

B  
>x<p> 


	5. Anger

**Anger**

_Note to self: Don't get John angry. Angry John is bad. Very bad._

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><p>Sherlock lay stretched out on his sofa. His flatmate was boiling the kettle in the kitchen a, <em>Seriously? Again? Couldn't the man go half an hour without a cup in his hand?<em> The smiley face on the wall was really beginning to get on the detectives nerves and he drew John's gun. Fortunately for the wall, said owner of the gun walked into the room at precisely the same moment,

'Sherlock, what the hell are you doing with my gun?' The forgotten cup was left on the nearest flat surface as the doctor made his way to the lanky detective, 'I don't even want to know how you got my gun but I want it back. Now.' Sherlock ran his eyes over the weapon in question. 'Sherlock.' John's voice was bordering that of a soldier now, whenever the blond got annoyed his voice reverted back to one of utmost control. The detective sighed and dropped the gun in his flatmates out-stretched hand then rolled so he faced the back of the sofa. John rolled his eyes and put the gun in his belt as he picked up the cup of tea again.

'Sherlock, I'm going to work. No, you cannot follow me. No, you can't dress up and visit me as a patient. No, I won't be available to make you tea at any point in my shift so don't bother calling. I'm switching my phone off anyway. I'll see you tonight, maybe.' The door clicked closed and Sherlock rolled off the sofa. _Stupid John, how will I contact him if there's an emergency? _A car pulled up outside and the detective inwardly groaned. _Mycroft. I swear, one of these day's I am going to kill him._ To show his annoyance with his older brother, Sherlock searched the entire house and got rid of every camera and microphone he found. They had been on level terms, John had seen to that, and had come to the agreement that Sherlock won't get rid of the surveillance as long as Mycroft didn't force cases on him and got him out of the 'occasional' mishap. Taking out every bug in the flat was going to have serious repercussions but at the moment, Sherlock didn't care. John had been kidnapped again by his bloody brother, who knows what they could be talking about.

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><p>John didn't actually turn his phone off. He turned it offline though, that way Mycroft would be able to contact him if needed. As it turns out, 'offline' only means 'inconvenient to contact'. The doctor decided he should have known, he phone would have not been made with an offline function if the Holmes brothers weren't still able to contact him through it. John sat in Mycroft's car, facing the government worker. The upside to the kidnappings was that he got a free ride to work. The downside was that he had to have a chat with the mastermind.<p>

'So John, how's everything been?' A polite politicians smile that never ceased to unnerve the doctor spread on the elder Holmes face.

'I'm sure you already know, what with the fifty-something cameras you've bugged our flat with.' The doctor was trying his best to be nice but he really wanted to just get work over with and get back to the flat, preferably before Sherlock blew it up.

'Give my brother a little credit, John. He wouldn't blow the flat up.' The soldier visibly froze, his guard shot straight up, hiding his thoughts from the genius in front of him.

'Well I'm not taking any chances.' Mycroft nodded and leant back slightly,

'You may want to hide that gun of yours more thoroughly. Also, keeping it in your back pocket while you're at work might not be the-' He was cut of by John,

'SHIT!' The doctor pulled the gun out and checked he had the safety on before looking around for somewhere to put it. The elder Holmes handed him a jacket, very much the same as the one he was wearing,

'It has a secret pocket inside, you can conceal the gun there.' John nodded his thanks and swapped jackets, sliding the gun into place. From the outside, no one would be able to know the weapon was there. The soldier chuckled at the irony. _The British government is helping me to carry an illegal weapon around with me. How twisted is that?_ Mycroft smirked,

'I'd do anything to keep my brother safe, Dr Watson.' The car stopped and John got out and entered the clinic. He was ten minutes early but they were sure to find something for him to do.

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><p><strong>John, we have a case. SH <strong>11.23am

**John, get to Scotland Yard now. SH **11.25am

**I know your phone is on SH **11.26am

**What could be so important that you won't even think about joining me? SH **11.26am

**I need your medical advice. SH **11.28am

**Could be dangerous SH **11.28am

**John **11.28am

**John **11. 28am

**John **11.29am

**John **11.29am

11.29am

**Fatcroft has sent someone to pick you up. SH **11.32am

**Locking yourself in your room is childish SH **11.37am

**She has a mild chest infection and a sprained wrist. Now get here SH **11.39am

John gritted his teeth as he exited his consulting room. Sure enough, Mycroft himself was stood at the reception, charming the receptionist.

'Thanks, Mycroft. How the hell am I meant to get money when every time I actually get to work either you, Sherlock or Moriarty decides they need me at that precise moment?' Despite John's rising annoyance, the elder Holmes remained exceedingly calm,

'Sherlock took down all the surveillance in the flat.' John froze,

'He did what?'

'You heard.' John's eyes narrowed.

'Right. Lets go.' The previous conversation had drawn quite a crowd and so, most of the doctors had come to the conclusion that there was more to Dr Watson and Mr Holmes, but they kept themselves to themselves which was more than could be said for the police force.

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><p>'John, you're here!' The detective said far to cheerfully for the doctor's liking, 'Come on, I need your opinion on the body before Anderson destroys everything.' John didn't move. 'John? What? What is it?' Soldier John was whipped out before anyone could blink. His voice was calm and brimming with authority,<p>

'You.' Sherlock blinked with surprise,

'Me?'

'Yes, you. I have had it with you dragging me round like I'm a bloody dog. You only notice me when I'm _needed_, you steal my gun, you play that damned violin at all times in the night, you go into my private thing as if they were books in a public library, you take down the surveillance that you know will result in me getting kidnapped by your bloody brother, you call me at work even when I specifically say not to. Then I get home and it's like I'm your bloody maid or something. You are just insufferable.' John took a breath and calmed himself down, though soldier John was still going through is paces in the doctor's voice. 'I know you're a sociopath but please, try having a little concern for my wellbeing. I can't take this any more, Sherlock, I can't.' Before Sherlock could answer, John turned and began to walk out the door. An annoying voice broke through the silence,

'Aw, has your toy soldier finally had enough? Poor Sherlock, looks like you have to find a new pet now.' The detective didn't even turn to retort to the forensic detective as he ran after his doctor.

Sherlock easily caught up with his flatmate and grabbed hold of the soldiers shoulders when they reached the door to stop him going any further.

'God, John, I am so sorry. Don't leave me.' John pulled away and kept on walking to the exit. Sherlock ran after him again, this time pushing him against the nearest wall. 'Listen to me, John. I can not live without you. I'm sorry that the way I am effects you like this but I can't change. Just please, don't leave me.' The detectives voice cracked slightly, soldier John cracked also and fell away, leaving a slightly shocked blond doctor looking at his flatmate,

'Sherlock. It's ok, I won't leave.' Piercing eye's surveyed the doctors features, each was filled with a deep-seated terror. 'I'm serious, Sherlock. I may shout and rant but I could never actually leave.' The detectives fears slid away and he leant forward to capture the doctors lips. John's closed his eyes and opened his mouth slightly, letting his tongue tentatively touch the others. Electricity shot through the soldier as his flatmates hands moved from the wall to his waist.

'Guys, I'm really happy for you but please, not here.' Both men turned to see a violently blushing Lestrade who was miserably failing to send the police officers way from the scene. Sherlock and John grinned at each other and the detective planted a kiss on his flatmates forehead before moving his a hand to John's wrist and gripping lightly.

'Dead body?' The he asked cheerfully. The soldier gesture with his free hand,

'Montrer la voie, monsieur Holmes.' John smirked at the detectives shocked face which quickly became a beaming smile as he wound his way through a sea of gob smacked police officers to the lab, pulling his flatmate through behind him. They had a case to solve, after all.

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><p><em>Note to self: Don't get John angry. Angry John is bad. Very bad. However; John is good. He is by far the most amazing man alive and he is entirely mine.<em>

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><p><strong>AN-<strong>_Montrer la voie, monsieur Holmes.- lead the way, Mr Holmes._

_I know this is a full story near enough, I just could never get it right. It's been on my computer for months without getting anywhere and I eventually gave up. I'd like to know what people think all the same_

_B  
>x<em>


	6. Awake my soul

**AN- **Thought of this while listening to 'Awake my soul' by Mumford and sons (Just another thing I don't own). It doesn't really have anything to do with the lyrics, but still...

Enjoy

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><p><strong>Awake my soul<strong>

'John, wait-'The detective ran past the doctor to block the door from him.

'Leave me alone, Sherlock' The soldier tried to push past but failed miserably so settled for crossing his arms over his chest and staring his flatmate down.

'John, I didn't mean what I said-' The doctor cut him off, growing increasingly angry.

'Oh really? You sounded pretty clear to me.'

'It wasn't want I meant. I-You-I didn't say right-You didn't understand.' John threw his hands in the air with frustration,

'What part of _I don't love you_ did I misunderstand? It seemed perfectly clear to me.' Sherlock opened his mind but closed it again, he didn't have an answer, not one he could give anyway. The doctor roughly grabbed his shoulder and forced him away from the door.

At the bottom of the stairs, Mrs Hudson watched silently from the doorway to her room as the blond doctor marched into the rain, slamming the door behind him. She cast her eyes to the top if the stairs to find the most devastating look she had ever seen sweep across the detectives face. He stood there, completely motionless, for the rest of the night. Just staring at the door.

* * *

><p>When she awoke the next morning, the detective was still standing at the top of the stairs. She put the kettle on and moved up the steps to him, he hadn't slept a wink but that wasn't unusual,<p>

'Sherlock dear, you need to go and find him. What ever you said, I know you didn't mean it. He's the best thing that's happened to you all the while I've known you, don't let him walk out this way.' Sherlock said nothing. The landlady guided him to his sofa and lightly pushed him to make him sit. The kettle boiled and she quickly made to cups of tea. she placed a cup into Sherlock's hands then sat in John's armchair.

'I'm being serious, Sherlock. You know he will listen if you tell him the truth.' The detective slowly drained his cup then stood and reached for his coat and scarf.

'I'm going to get John back, don't wait up.' He said over his shoulder then the door clicked closed. Mrs Hudson sighed inwardly and sincerely hoped that John did listen to the man, there is too much wrong with the world as it is, we can't stand to lose another great mind.

* * *

><p>John felt the rain trickle down the back of his neck as he left the flat. The rain mixed with the tears that had began to fall down his face. The doctor didn't know what to do now, his body was set to auto pilot and he found that he had walked into the nearby park, the place he usually went to when he needed a break from Sherlock. He walked round the path until he came to the bench, where he sat down. The park was empty, except for him. The rain cast a mist over the pond and gave the area a beautiful quality, one that most people never see because they don't want to walk in the rain. The tears has stopped flowing and now all he felt inside was a growing emptiness. He thought that Sherlock loved him but he had just been manipulated again. It always was the case with his flatmate, he should have known better.<p>

John didn't know how long he stayed sat on the bench in the rain but morning light just peaked through the trees when he finally rose again. He was tired, hungry and almost assuredly had caught a cold by now but he couldn't bring himself to care. A figure ran up to him, splashing in the muddy puddles,

'John.' He said breathlessly, 'Please come back.' John stood facing his partner, when the light finally hit the others features the doctor saw the fragmented look in the detectives eyes.

'I don't know if I can, Sherlock. Not after this. You manipulated me.' Despite his best effort, the soldiers voice cracked slightly.

'I didn't, John. I would never do that to you. Please, don't leave.' Sherlock moved to take hold of John's arm but the doctor stepped back, blocking his actions.

'You will tell me the truth now. Do you love me?' The detective's look turned pleading,

'No.' John breathed out slowly,

'Well, that is all I needed to know.' He turned away but was pulled back by Sherlock.

'You still don't understand. I don't love you, I need you. I couldn't possibly live without you. You are part of me. Love break people down, it clouds judgment, it destroys and maims and kills. I could never do that to you, John.' The rain let up slightly as the words sunk into the doctor. Both men stood silently for many minutes before John's lips finally twitched into a tentative smile. He pulled the taller man into his arms and they held each other close.

* * *

><p>As the two men walked back to the flat, the rain finally stopped its onslaught and allowed the sun to break through the clouds. John smiled up at the detective who had his arm wrapped firmly around the doctors waist as if he was afraid to let go. Mrs Hudson waited at the door, smiling warmly as she let them in. <em>Sometimes<em>, she thought to herself, _sometimes happy endings do happen._


	7. Forfeits

**AN- **Sherlock loses a bet and John pays the price. I fancied something a bit more light hearted than what I have been doing lately.

Enjoy  
>x<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Forfeits<strong>

'Ok, so tell me again, why am I doing this?' John asked as he buttoned up the Westwood jacket.

'Well, I lost a bet with Jim and the forfeit was that you go on a date with him.' The doctor sighed, it wasn't the first time he had had to do something stupid because of his flatmate. Though this was by far the most stupid thing he would have done yet. Sherlock and Moriarty seemed to keep each other entertained easily and usually no one got hurt so John had been fine to let them get on with it. He hadn't realised that the reason no one else got harmed was because most of the games that the two geniuses busied themselves with were in fact John based. He walked out of the door and into a sleek car that waited at the curb. Mrs Hudson, who had no idea what was going on, smiled cheerfully and waved from the window. _Sherlock, if you tell her anything I am going to kill you._

* * *

><p>Inside the car, the Irishman smiled genuinely. A scary look at immediately put John on edge.<p>

'Johnny Boy! Don't be like that. Come and sit next to me. This night will go a lot easier if you just relax.' Jim called lightly.

'Easy for you to say.' The doctor scoffed, he sat next to the other man anyway, _damn him for speaking the truth!_

'So, where are we going?' The doctor asked as he tried not to flinch while Jim interwove their hands.

'It's a surprise.' Jim whispered coyly. The ex soldier rolled his eyes.

'So that would be the dance that's on at the hall then.' He said, unimpressed. Jim's eyes widened with shock but he didn't say anything. John smiled, knowing that he had hit the bulls eye.

* * *

><p>The car pulled up to the hall and Jim got out then opened the door for his date. John blushed and tried to maintain his dignity as he stepped from the vehicle. He could feel it slipping away from him with each moment that past by. Jim grabbed his hand and walked him to the entrance.<p>

'At least try to look happy, John. I wouldn't want to have to arrange another forfeit.' Jim said as if he were commenting on the weather or something equally has mundane. John scowled at him but plastered on a smile when they reached the door. The two made their way inside and no soon had they entered did a certain woman notice the doctor. John's mind spewed a stream of curses that thankfully didn't reach his lips as Sarah made her way up to him.

'I thought you weren't coming to the dance.' She said, eyeing the man next to him with interest.

'I wasn't. I shouldn't be. Sherlock dragged me into this.' He said, still biting back the cursing remarks in his mind. The woman made a show of looking round,

'Yes, and where is Sherlock? I thought he'd be here with you.' The accusation was clear cut in the undertones of her voice. Jim, for one, had had enough of it. He wrapped his arms around the doctor and passed him a drink before turning to the female in front of them.

'Sherlock's not here. As for tonight, John in mine and I intend to keep it that way. Do you have a problem?' He asked, barely keeping his civil frame of mind. The woman must have seen a flicker of something behind his eyes because she subconsciously backed away slightly.

'Uh, no. There's no problem. I'll see you at work tomorrow, John. Make sure your fit for duty.' She turned and walked back into the throng of people as John choked slightly on his drink. Jim sniggered but stopped when his date sent a war hardened glare his way. Though it didn't have the desired effect on the mastermind.

The next to see the doctor was Greg Lestrade, another person John had hoped wasn't attending. He also scouted the room for Sherlock but didn't say anything when he realised the detective wasn't present. Jim was getting rather annoyed with people automatically looking for the younger Holmes brother when they saw his date. John was his and his alone. For tonight, anyway, though several plans were already forming on how to keep the doctor forever. The mastermind took the ex army medics hand and John seemed to remember his existence.

'Greg, this is Jim. Jim, Greg Lestrade.' He went on to explain that Jim had worked in the lab. The DI's face lit up with understanding,

'Yes, I remember. The one that left after Sherlock said he was…oh. Oh.' Greg said as he finally caught on. He gave John a knowing look and the doctor groaned.

'I swear, Lestrade. You say anything about this at the Yard and I will kill you.' The DI laughed but something in his voice shook as though he wasn't entirely sure if John was actually joking or not. The man left and Jim pulled the two of them close together.

'And that is the reason I love you.' He seemed to realise what he had just said a moment later and echoed the thoughts of both men with one short word. 'Fuck.'

A few hours, and drinks later. John and Jim had found themselves in the middle of a large group of people. Sarah had done what woman do, gossip, and the DI had obviously decided that the doctor had been joking. When too many rounds of drinks were added to this mix of people, they became children in a school yard;

'John's gay? Never. He went out with Sarah.'

'Yeh, but he's with that Jim bloke.'

'If John was gay with anyone, it would be Sherlock. We've all seen how they act.'

'If that's true then why is he here with that guy.'

'Someone told me the Sherlock lost a bet and that was the forfeit.'

'Yeh right, next you're going to tell me that this Jim fellow's Moriarty and we're all about to get snippered.' That one hit a little too close to home and Jim decided that he wasn't going to stand for any more of this drunken rambling. John had become sufficiently hammered and the mastermind calculated that he wouldn't stop his next move. Jim sighed then reached forward and pulled a very surprised Dr Watson in for a passionate kiss. It only took a second of half hearted pulling away before John melted and opened his mouth. Jim smirked as he continued the kiss. The crowd around them had stopped the gossiping now and had full attention on what was happening before them. Moriarty had to wonder how long it had been since any of them had got any action because it surely wasn't normal to stare at two people frenching, even if both were guys. The mastermind finally pulled away as has he did he couldn't help but say just loud enough for the people closest to hear,

'So, am I better that Sherlock.'

'Definitely.' Came a breathless response causing Jim to laugh uncontrollably. _Screw world domination, this is what I want for my birthday._


	8. The Wedding

**AN-** Mycroft finally gets married, but who to? Sherlock thinks he knows and he could never be wrong, could he?  
>Thanks to LIGHTNSHADOWS for the idea, though it's not exactly the same. I would be happy to hear any other ideas so if you have any feel free to tell me :)<p>

Enjoy

* * *

><p><strong>The Wedding<strong>

'Sherlock, get down here now!' The detective started at the walls of John's bedroom. He thought about ignoring his flatmate so that the soldier had to come up there to get him. Then he could pin up and take his partner again. Another voice piqued up _He wouldn't let you. He'd come up here and drag you down again. _Now there's an idea._ You'd also probably have to sleep on the couch again. _Sherlock leapt from the bed already dressed and darted downstairs.

As soon as he entered the living room, a little white card was thrust into his hand.

'Mycroft's getting married.' John said backhandedly. Sherlock narrowed his eyes,

'How on earth did you know that? You haven't even seen the card.' The detective replied, knowing full well that his flatmate had got the right answer but thoroughly annoyed with it. John smiled, glad to finally get his own back.

'It's the type of card that people use for wedding invites and one of his assistances dropped it off. It wasn't Athena though, that was the odd part.' The doctor finished the sentence lost in thought. Sherlock stopped and laughed.

'That's because he's getting married to her.' He said, mirroring his partners early backhanded tone. John plucked the card and read it.

'It doesn't say that anywhere. In fact it only says date, time, place and 'Be there or so help me I will make your life a living hell.' How do you know it's her, could just be a day off. Oh, and by the way, it's today.' Sherlock's eyes narrowed once again,

'Is there something about this that you're not telling me, John? Because if there is I would very much like to know right now.' The detective asked, staring intently at the doctor. The soldier smiled, it paid to have lived under the detectives watchful eye, it meant that the man now had great difficulty in deducting anything about his flatmate.

'No, there isn't.' He said, reigning in the smile. Sherlock turned away swiftly in the manner which said '_I am going to sulk now for an indeterminable amount of time._' John ran upstairs and took out two suits, he had decided that it was a good idea to keep one decent suit of his flatmates held back purely for occasions like this because the man always seemed to stain or tear or burn every single one he had. The doctor came back downstairs once he had gotten changed and flung Sherlock's suit over him. The detective made no effort to move, choosing to ignore the clothes.

'Sherlock, I really don't want to get kidnapped today so I would appreciate it if you just got dressed without being an arse.' John didn't mean to snap but the detective did deserve it, insufferable git that he was. The doctor wasn't expecting his flatmate to scoff and blatantly ignore his request but for some unknown reason, the detective sulkily grabbed his suit and dragged his feet as he made his way to his room to change.

* * *

><p>Sherlock found himself sat a two rows from the front in a church filled with many people he knew and a few he didn't. John had left him to find their seats as soon as they entered. Something wasn't right, he knew it but he just couldn't figure out what. Everyone became quiet as Mycroft walked down to stand by the vicar. Sherlock couldn't help but raise an eyebrow as he noticed that his brother had indeed lost weight. In fact, he looked almost normal. The eldest Holmes didn't notice Sherlock's expression, or if he did he was in extreme control of his own facial features. <em>Where is John? He will miss the whole ceremony if he doesn't hurry up. Unless…So that was what he was hiding. He didn't want to go himself but was fine with forcing me to sit through this. I am going to get him for this.<em> The music started up from the organ pipes overhead and Sherlock joined the rest of the visitors as he turned to the doors. His jaw dropped in surprise as he saw John smilingly lightly with Greg Lestrade on his arm. He walked the DI down the aisle. Sherlock looked round the open church, he was the only one shocked. He shot John a withering glance then pasted on a smile when he knew his flatmate had seen him. When the two men reached the vicar, John said something quietly then put Gregs hands in Mycroft's and stepped back to take his seat. The rest of the ceremony was tedious and Sherlock switched off no more than twenty seconds into the vicars speech. _Trust Mycroft to be the one person for whom the Church of England would overlook the 'No gay marriages' policy._

When Sherlock came back to reality, the crowd were clapping and saying there congratulations to the newly weds. He rolled his eyes and made his way to his brother,

'I suppose I should congratulate you on your mass loss of weight. You no longer have a waistline to rival the blue whale.' He drawled, looking thoroughly bored. Mycroft smiled and ruffled his hair,

'I know, my brother, and this time I will keep it off.' The elder Holmes replied genuinely pleased that his brother had offered him some sort of compliment, an occurrence that hadn't happened since he was a child. 'I will be expecting you at the reception tonight then, John knows the time and place.' Sherlock seemed to suddenly remember the doctor as he turned to face John with a promise clear in his eyes. He absent mindedly said goodbye to his brother and moved to meet his flatmate, who had suddenly become slightly more on edge.

'Uh, Sherlock. Um… well, isn't this church just wonderful-' John began but his voice trailed off when he saw Sherlock's expression.

'Home now. Get to work on your explanation, I expect it to be good.' The detective seethed before swiftly exiting to claim a cab.

* * *

><p>The journey home had been awkward and silent and John knew it was only foreshadowing what was to come once they got home.<p>

He was right. As soon as John was inside the flat he found himself flying to the sofa. Completely taken me surprise, the doctor flailed as he tried to right himself but he soon found that this was impossible as his partner was currently pinning him to the cushions.

'Okay, I am ready for your explanation now.' Sherlock said smoothly. John, who was still stunned, seemed to have problems finding his mouth. 'I'm waiting, John.' Finally, the doctor regained control,

'Greg asked me to keep it from you, for some reason he didn't want to have to put up with you taking the piss out of him before he'd even got married, so thing I can kind of see to be honest because you can be a complete tosser when you're in the mood for insulting someone. Oh, I was meant to tell you this morning but you were so sure it was that lovely assistant of his that I couldn't help but relish the fact that you were wrong.' John said, ending with a smirk. Sherlock growled and roughly pulled the doctors arms above his head and out of the way,

'You are going to regret this, John Watson.'


	9. If you were gay

**AN-** Watching Avenue Q and sorting out my fanfics at the same time lead to the righting of this fic. Sherlock decides that John needs help with coming out of the closet. I REGRET NOTHING!

Enjoy

* * *

><p><strong>If you were gay<strong>

John sat in his chair, thankfully Sherlock was at the Yard without him. This could only mean one thing in the doctors mind; two hours of peace and quiet. And John was going to make good of every second of it. He picked up the paper that he had abandoned that morning because he couldn't read a word past the tortured sounds that invaded his ears. He sighed in content and sunk further into the cushions of his chair. The soldier was just getting into the various stories when the door swung open,

'John, I'm home!' Called the detective from the doorway.

'Sherlock, I am trying to read.' John called back, holding the paper up for his flatmate to see. The detective ignored him and leant over the chair,

'You'll never guess what happened to me at the Yard today. This guy was smiling at me and talking to me' He said, very much like a gossiping teenager.

'I really couldn't care less.' The doctor replied, unimpressed. He started to read the paper again but was suddenly aware his flatmate was speaking to him again. Try as he might, he couldn't not hear what was being said.

'He was being real friendly and I think he was coming on to me. I think he thought that _I _was gay.' Sherlock said, staring intently at him. John closed the paper to return the stare, he licked his lips nervously,

'So why are you tell me this? Why should I care? I don't care.' He stood up and moved to the other side of the room. Of course, the taller man followed him. John sighed in annoyance and tried to change the subject. 'So, how was the case?' Sherlock gave him an odd look,

'You don't need to get defensive.' He said softly.

'I'M NOT GETTING DEFENSIVE!' The doctor snapped, 'What should I care about so gay guy you met. I am trying to read.' Sherlock tried his best to look hurt,

'I didn't mean anything by it, John. I just thought it should be something that we are able to talk about.' The detective said matter of factly.

'Well I don't want to talk about it. This conversation is over.' John said, trying hard to keep his voice steady.

'But-' Sherlock tried to say but he was cut off.

'OVER!' Sherlock turned and began to walk away,

'Ok, but just so you know-' He turned to face his flatmate again.

'If you were gay-'

'Sherlock…' John placed down the paper on the coffee table.

'-That would be ok-'

'Sherlock, stop.' The doctor stood up to try and get away from the other man.

'- I mean, cause hey, I like you anyway.'

'Please don't do this, Sherlock.' The doctor but his coat and shoes on, he really didn't want to be in the same flat as Sherlock when he was behaving like this.

'Because, you see, I f it were me-' The detective beat him to the door and blocked the exit.

'Oh God.' John pinched the bridge of his nose with a thumb and finger.

'-I would feel free to say-'

'Just stop now.' The blond turned away, frantically think of a different exit from the flat.

'That I was gay.' Sherlock grabbed Johns shoulders and whispered, 'But I'm not gay.'

The doctor found himself being pushed back to the sofa, he let out a strangled cry and his legs gave way and he crashed into the cushions. The detective sat straddled over Johns thighs

'Fine! For Gods sake, I'm gay. Right, now you can get off me!' The doctor all but yelled as he tried to push his flatmate off him. Sherlock smirked and got up, leaving the ex army medic to wonder what the hell had just happened.


	10. Jar of hearts

_I know I can't take one more step towards you,  
><em>_Cause all that's waiting is regret,  
><em>_And don't you know I'm not your ghost anymore,  
><em>_You lost the love I loved the most_.

The cold chill swirled round Greg Lestrade as burst out of his house. The rain drenched him within seconds of leaving the confines of his home but the DI just couldn't find the strength to care. Through the downpour, he could hear a voice calling, begging, for him to come back. He knew he would have to go back at some point; it was his house he had just stormed out of after all. Thinking about it, he should have kicked the other man out instead of running himself. If it had been any other man, if it had been any other person, then he would have sent them packing hours ago but any other person wasn't Mycroft Holmes.

_I learned to live half alive,  
><em>_And now you want me one more time._

The DI bitterly fought back the tears. He was a grown man for Gods sake! And anyway, he thought, he and Mycroft had finished over a month ago.

'It wasn't me who ended it.' Greg muttered to himself. The elder Holmes had used him. It wasn't love that drew the government worker to him; it was a quick shag and a way to keep taps on Sherlock. Well he wasn't going to be that man, not anymore. The DI's phone had been vibrating in his pocket for the past five minutes now, it should have gone to answer phone ages ago but Mycroft always had his ways. _He could probably switch the damn thing back on if I turned it off, _Lestrade thought with a twitch of a smile. A car pulled up beside him and the door opened.

'Get in.' Came the voice from inside. Lestrade didn't justify the man with an answer and instead kept on walking. The man got out, opening his umbrella and followed, quickly catching the now sodden detective inspector up but staying a metre away.

'Greg.' He said in a pleading voice. 'Please, come back to me. I want you. I need you.' Greg's hands balled into fists. He twisted to face the other man,

'Who do you think you are?' He hissed. He threw his hands out, 'Running round leaving scars-' The DI's face contorted. 'Collecting your-' Greg paused, trying to think of what to say next, '-your jar of hearts and tearing love apart.' He spat. Mycroft put his hands up in surrender.

'Greg, please.' He tried again. Lestrade pressed a finger to the other mans chest.

'You're going to catch a cold from the ice inside your soul.' He all but growled, leaning in close, 'So don't come back to me. Who do you think you _are_?' With that, the DI turned and carried on through the torrential weather, going nowhere.

_I hear you're asking all round,  
><em>_If I'm anywhere to be found.  
><em>_But I have grown too strong,  
><em>_To ever fall back in your arms._

Mycroft watched Greg Lestrade vanish before his eyes. He should leave this. He should walk away; after all he didn't need the DI. He could watch his brother through many other channels that had opened up since. But something was holding him, calling him back to the detective. Something he didn't feel until it left. He should never have let the other man go. He should never have said what he had. It was so unprofessional, so unlike him. He had seen his little brother do the same thing with his doctor; the difference was the doctor was one of those men whose emotions easily over-rid their mind. Greg was different, once burned he wouldn't be bought back as easily. Mycroft wasn't entirely sure he could be bought back at all. After they had split, the elder Holmes contacted everyone who knew the DI. He just wanted to say he was sorry and he had been foolish. The detective inspector wouldn't accept his apologies, he wouldn't even acknowledge his existence. Mycroft had never believed in God but this was certainly beginning to feel like hell. The words his former lover said just played on repeat in his mind

_Who do you think you are?  
><em>_Running round leaving scars,  
><em>_Collecting your jar of hearts,  
><em>_And tearing love apart.  
><em>_You're going to catch a cold,  
><em>_From the ice inside your soul.  
><em>_So don't come back to me,  
><em>_Who do you think you are?_

Lestrade somehow found his way back to his house without even realising he was heading that way. The door was unlocked but he entered anyway. It was his house and he would not be the one to leave this time. Sure enough, the elder Holmes brother sat, perched on the end of his sofa.

'Greg-' He began but the DI brought up a hand to silence him.

'No, Mycroft. No. You broke your promises. Now you want me back, well it's not going to happen. Just go. Don't come back to me. Don't come back at all.' Lestrade left the door wide open and stepped aside for the government worker to leave. The DI found he didn't care what his unwelcome visitor did. He was sodden and he was going to change. He began to undo his jacket, letting it fall to the floor with a soft splat. Mycroft Holmes stood up.

'I see. I guess I should have known this endeavour was futile. I'm sorry, Greg. For everything.' He placed a few notes on the table, muttering something about paying for his ruined clothes then left. Greg turned to the door, the broken remains of his heart shattered. Then he noticed something, leaning against the sofa was the black umbrella. Mycroft never went anywhere without his umbrella. Lestrade looked towards the door again, though it was now closed he still felt as though he could see the man behind. It reminded him of how he could always see through Mycroft Holmes strong built walls. He always knew how his partner felt and the man was sorry. He was being completely, transparently truthful and Greg had turned him away. Before he even knew what he was doing, the door was flung open and he was running again.

Mycroft hadn't gotten far. He hadn't made it down the street. But he had had the common decency to get himself of the street and out of the public view. Greg found his target sat on the bench, his entire figure trembling as he tried to keep everything in. He looked up as the DI approached and sat next to him.

'You get one more chance. One more to prove yourself to me. Show me that you care.' Mycroft's eyes lit hesitantly and Greg held his chin to force him to look into the detectives eyes. 'But if you ever misuse my trust again and I will leave you. And I won't come back.' Mycroft Holmes nodded solemnly and pulled his partner in for a hug. The words still raced through the government workers mind, and even though he knew Greg was his again, they just wouldn't go away.

_Who do you think you are?  
><em>_Running round leaving scars,  
><em>_Collecting your jar of hearts,  
><em>_And tearing love apart.  
><em>_You're going to catch a cold,  
><em>_From the ice inside your soul.  
><em>_So don't come back to me,  
><em>_Don't come back at all.  
><em>_Who do you think you are?_

* * *

><p><strong>AN-<strong> Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or the song (Jar of hearts by Chirstina Perri)  
>Review=Love, happiness and everlasting gratitude :D<p>

B  
>x<p> 


	11. If you were gay the aftermath

John spent the rest of the evening in a paranoid state. Sherlock hadn't bothered him at all, not even to get him to pass the phone when it went off and, quite frankly, it was disturbing. Then there was the way he felt like the man was watching him when his back was turned. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore.

'I'm going to bed.' He announced.

'Good for you.' The consulting detective replied. John narrowed his eyes and left, stomping up to his room.

* * *

><p>He slipped out of his clothes and between the cool covers, sighing as he relaxed. Bed warmed up and he snuggled into the covers which were suddenly snatched away from him. He scrambled for the duvet and pulled it up round his neck, looking in utter horror at his flatmate who stood in a dressing gown at the end of the bed.<p>

'Sherlock? What the fuck?' He yelled indignantly. Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

'You don't have to be so touché, John, I am your flatmate after all.' He drawled. The doctor stared in disbelief.

'Sherlock, I am naked. In my own bed. And you walked into my room and pull my cover off me.' He hissed. The detective sat on the edge of the bed.

'Well done, Captain Obvious.' He said sarcastically. John glared daggers at his flatmate and got out of the bed, no longer bothered what Sherlock saw as he got dressed.

'I'm going round to Sarah's, don't wait up.' He snapped. Sherlock blocked his way.

'Don't go. I was stupid, I'm sorry.' He said quickly. The doctor scoffed and pushed him out of the way.

* * *

><p>Sarah knew of Johns predicament, she knew before he did.<p>

'Why can't Sherlock be normal just once?' John asked his ex. The woman looked at him. John was more than a little tipsy and now the words were flowing freely.

'Would he still be Sherlock though?' She asked. The soldier's eyebrows creased in confusion.

'Well, uh, no I guess.' He replied. 'But there are times when I hate him so much.' She smiled sadly.

'Sometimes the one you love is the one you hate most.' John turned back to the woman, shaking his head. This was suspiciously heading in a direction he really didn't want to travel.

'No. No lectures.' He pleaded. She smiled and began.

'The more you love someone,  
>The more you want to kill them.' Sarah said, putting her hand on his shoulder softly.<p>

'Wait, what?' John asked, pulling away.

'The more you love someone,  
>The more he makes you cry.' The woman continued, in a world of her own.<p>

'Please stop.' The doctor begged, curling into a ball. When he had gone to Sarahs what he had in mind was a cup of tea and somewhere to sleep without the covers being pulled from in. How this translated into getting a pep talk on relationships from his ex, he didn't know.

'The more you love someone,  
>The more he makes you crazy.' His ex sighed.<p>

'Great.' John said, beginning to agree with what was being said.

'The more you love someone,  
>The more you wish he was dead.' Sarah put her hands in the shape of a gun and pretended to shoot John.<p>

'Uh, I'm not sure that's such a good thing…' He began but was cut off.

'Sometimes you look at him  
>And only see annoying and selfish,' The woman had met Sherlock numerous times and knew all to well what a git he could be. And that was to people he didn't like. It seemed reasonable that he would ten times worse for those he actually did like since the chances were that they'd put up with it.<p>

'Ok, yeh. That's true.' The soldier allowed, thinking back on the countless times he had followed the detective.

'And you're wanting baseball bat,  
>For to hit him on the head!' Sarah said, the gun suddenly disappearing only to be replaced with an invisible baseball bat.<p>

'Now that's a bit too much.' John stated, aware that Sarah was slightly more violent than he first thought.

'And so, if there's someone  
>That you want to kill,<br>Go and find him,  
>And you get him,<br>And you don't kill him.  
>Because the chances are good,<br>That he is your love.' She finished. John slumped into the chair.

'Oh hell.' He muttered. 'How on earth did I manage to find two nutters for friends?' The doctor collected his things and thanked the woman for setting him straight. If he was lucky,Sherlock would still be in the flat and he could apologise properly. Though, now he thought about it, why was he the one apologising?

* * *

><p>Sherlock was waiting for him when he got back in.<p>

'I'm sorry.' He said sincerely. John smiled and pulled him in for a hug.

'It's fine. It's all fine. Just don't let me by a baseball bat.'


	12. Mr Brightside

Sherlock glowered at the girl clinging to the arm of his flatmate. The blond doctor sent a small smile his way and showered the woman with is award winning grin.

'Well, we're going now Sherlock. Don't wait up for me.' The soldier said with an effortless happy tone. The detective nodded and refused to acknowledge they were there. Maybe if he did, John wouldn't go. Of course, the door closed with the blonds apologises about the wacky flatmate to his unworthy date.

Two hours had past. Sherlock lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling.

_I'm coming out of my cage,  
>And I've been doing just fine .<br>Gotta gotta be down,  
>Because I want it all .<em>

He flipped onto his side and stared at the second smiley face he had drawn on the wall. The gun next to him call to be fired but he couldn't be bothered to reach for it. The doctor could never keep a woman for long. Why couldn't John see that he was meant for the man living with him? This woman he was with right now, he didn't even know her. They'd met on one of Sherlock's cases the day before. She had annoyed Sherlock then and, even though she was at least a mile away from him, she had gone and found a way to annoy him now.

_It started out with a kiss,  
>How did it end up like this?<br>It was only a kiss,  
><em>_It was only a kiss._

The detective looked at the clock for the fifth time in as many minutes. He shouldn't care. He didn't care. Let John do whatever it was the John liked to do. If that was to go on various dates with idiot women, then so be it. Sherlock was stupid to think that his flatmate would ever understand. He pulled the covers up and closed his eyes.

_Now I'm falling asleep,  
>And she's calling a cab,<br>While he's having a smoke,  
>And she's taking a drag. <em>

Sherlock gritted his teeth and yelled at his mind to leave him alone. He eventually gave up and looked at the clock again. Eleven O'clock, they'd just be leaving the restaurant by now. The detective could just see it in his mind. John in his almost never worn suit and that monster in her red dress and stilettos, their clothes smelling faintly of the cigarette that demon smokes. John never smoked, even if his date did. That didn't stop him from carrying a lighter. His date, being a woman, would have 'misplaced' hers or have it in some stupid place that she wouldn't be able to reach meaning that John would have to 'save the day' once again.

_Now they're going to bed,  
>And my stomach is sick,<br>And it's all in my head._

The pillow found itself covering the lanky detectives head as the man screamed in frustration. He had long since stopped trying to ignore his overactive mind, instead deciding to let it run its bloody course.

_But she's touching his chest.  
>Now, he takes off her dress,<br>Now, letting me go_.

Just the thought of that snake pawing his John was enough to make Sherlock feel ill. How could it be that his flatmate effected him this way? He never felt his way before. And besides, John wouldn't go that far on the first date. He never had before. He'd always ended up on the girls sofa, or the nearest hotel or he would creep into the flat at 'Sherlockian' times in the morning (John's words, not his) then he would make his way quietly up to his room in a glum mood because he had once again failed. But Sherlock knew that it was only a matter of time before he found someone and then he would leave, just like the rest.

_I just can't look,  
>Its killing me,<br>And taking control._

Finally, the detective snapped. Staying in bed was tearing him apart. He picked up the robe on the chair next to the bed and swiftly tied it around his waist, already making his way out of the room.

_Jealousy, turning saints into the sea.  
>Swimming through sick lullabies.<br>Choking on your alibis _

For the first time since the blond doctor had moved into his life, Sherlock put the kettle on himself. Cups of tea seemed to work for John so it stands to reason that they'd work for him too. The kettle boiled and Sherlock poured the water into his mug. Even if John liked him, Sherlock would never be able to get what he wanted. A relationship would only distract him. Boiling water poured over the rim of the cup, scolding his hand. The detective yelped, mostly in shock, and quickly turned to cold water tap on. This was exactly what he was talking about. He wasn't even in a relationship with the doctor and he was being distracted.

_But it's just the price I pay.  
>Destiny is calling me.<em>

The door opened and a tired doctor trudged through. His date had been an utter disaster. Nothing went wrong, everything was perfect in fact, except for the person he was with. The soldier closed the door behind him and leaned against the solid wood.

_Open up my eager eyes,  
>Cause I'm Mr Brightside.<em>

Sherlock left the kitchen and bumped straight into his flatmate.  
>'John.' He said with a hint of surprise, 'I didn't expect you back yet.' The doctor looked at him and smiled that small smile which was reserved only for the detective.<br>'I'm sorry for being such a git.' He said. Sherlock's brow furrowed in confusion.  
>'What?' He asked. The soldier huffed a laugh and rubbed the back of his neck as he tried to find the words.<br>'I never listen to you when it comes to women.' He admitted. 'I should know to trust your judgement by now. I'm sorry.' Sherlock's eyes lit up for a millisecond then he realised John was stood right in front of him and he carefully masked up the flicker of emotion. The two men stared at each other for many moments before the doctor coughed, breaking the moment and walked past the other man.  
>'I'm going to bed. Now. I'm going to bed now. So pease don't blow up the flat while I'm sleeping.' John said. Sherlock watched him go then made his way back to his own room, cup of tea and dully throbbing hand completely forgotten, and slipped back between the covers again. With closed eyes he breathed a relieved sigh as his mind went blissfully quiet. <em>There's hope for us yet. <em>He thought as he drifted to sleep. _There's hope for us yet._


	13. That ain't no crime

Sherlock looked across his flat at the Scotland Yard officers and then he turned to John. He dragged his hand down his face with calculated slowness and sighed in exasperation. The detective all but threw himself on the sofa.

'The Sword of Damocles is hangin' over my head,' He groaned. Anderson's eyebrows creased in confusion.

'What the hell's the freak talking about now?' He sneered. John glared at him, out of all the sayings that his flatmate liked to use, this one he actually knew.

'The Sword of Damocles was a Sword hung from the ceiling by a single hair above the courtier Damocles to remind him of the precariousness of power and privilege.' The doctor answered. The forensic detective still looked black and John sighed. 'It's a metaphor. Something threatening and evil could happen at any time.' He said. Sherlock would have smirked if he wasn't too busy being woeful.

'And I've got the feelin' someone's gonna be cuttin' the thread.' He called to John who shook his head and offered the men a cup of tea.

'John.' The DI said. 'You do realise we're here on a drugs bust, don't you.' Before John could reply, the detective sat up.'Oh! Woe is me!' He groaned. 'My life is a misery.' He stood and grabbed John by his shoulders, bending down slightly so that he was at eye level.'And can't you see,' He stated. 'That I'm at the start of a pretty big downer.'

'Is he actually on drugs?' Sally called from the door. Lestrade didn't know for sure. He looked at John.

'Can you all go away. You can play drug busts tomorrow.' The doctor said. The DI tried to stand authoritively but something in the soldiers eyes crumbled his resolve.

'Lets go.' He called to the group who grumbled as they made their way to the door.

Now they were alone, John took Sherlock to the sofa, sat him down then sat down next to him.

'What's the problem?' He asked softly, holding his flatmates hands. The detective looked slightly sheepish.'I woke up this mornin' with a start when I fell out of bed.' He said.

'That ain't no crime.' John cooed. 'And left from my dream it was a feelin' of un-nameable dread.' By now, Sherlock was quaking. Whether it was from fear or something else entirely, John wasn't sure.

'That ain't no crime' He repeated softly.'My high is low,' The detective moaned. 'I'm dressed up with no place to go!' The doctor decided to let Sherlock scream and shout all he wanted until this, whatever it was, passed.'And all I know.' The man said sadly but with enough volume for the whole street to hear, 'Is I'm at the start of a pretty big downer!' John grabbed Sherlock's head and brought the man to look in his eyes.

'Now listen to me,' He said calmly. 'You just had a nightmare. It's perfectly normal.' The doctor couldn't quite believe the man had never experienced a nightmare before. _I've had enough of them to make up for both of us._ He thought with a huff of a laugh.

'You don't get it, John.' Sherlock whined. 'This wasn't a nightmare.' He looked dead in the blond doctors eyes, seemingly looking straight through them into the cavernous depths of his soul.

'The Sword of _Damocles_ is hangin' over my head.' He tried again. John pinched the bridge of his nose.

'So you've got a bad feeling about something, that ain't no crime.' He replied. It was getting to be mission impossible to get his flatmate to realise that nothing was wrong. 'But John, I've really got the feelin' someone's gonna be cuttin' the thread!' The detective said in earnest. John was about to laugh.

'That aint no-' A massive explosion launched the doctor off his feet and stopped him speaking instantly.

In the calm after the explosion, John sat up and found a very stricken looking detective crouched behind the arm of a dust covered sofa. Next, the doctor turned to the whole which once held the door. A figure appeared but the falling dust made it hard to see who it was.

'No. But this is.' The Irish voice called. 'Sorry, guys, I couldn't resist.' Then he hopped into the room, looked round the broken mess of a table and picked up a file. 'Hmm, so that's what you brother is up to.' He said, flicking through the pages before putting it under his arm and walking back out again. John and Sherlock stared at each other.

'Sherlock,' The doctor said slowly.

'Yes, John?' His flatmate replied.

'The next time you get a bad feeling, make sure you tell me.' He said. Sherlock looked at him with a hint of a smile.

'Why?' He asked, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear it anyway.

'So I can get as far away from you as possible.' He answered. They looked at each other and started laughing uncontrollably. They were still laughing when Scotland Yard, Mycroft and the secret services all showed up at their half demolished flat ten minutes later.

* * *

><p><strong>AN- <strong>Please don't kill me. The song is 'The Sword of Damocles' from the Rocky Horror Picture Show. (I don't own that either) I'm slightly scared I thought of this. As always, please review.

B  
>x<p> 


	14. Out of sight

**Out of sight**

Sherlock Holmes twirled his coat and paced the floor of Scotland Yard, spouting a well mixed concoction of deductions and insults directed at every living person in the room, bar his flatmate. John tapped his foot, folded his arms and raised an eyebrow. It wasn't as if the detective had flown off the handle on a whim. That idiot, Anderson, and his bitch, Sergeant Donavan, had made their own snide comments about both of him and Sherlock and what happens behind closed doors. And, well, after a six months of being with the consulting detective, John had become accustomed to his mannerisms. But that didn't mean he had to put up with it. He took out his phone and sent the text he had made earlier, just in case.

_Quit while you're ahead. You won't hold the moral high ground forever. JW_

Sherlock's phone pinged and he fished it out of his pocket. He glanced at the soldier who smiled tightly, an unreadable expression in his eyes. The detective pocketed his mobile and chewed his lips for a second before changing his demeanour entirely.

'Arrest the step brother and the best friend of the deceased, the evidence will be under both their fingernails, in the bin on the corner of the street and in one of the shrubs surrounding the house.' He said quickly, like a child who had been forced to give an apology. John shook his head in disbelief, he would never have thought that a fully grown man could be so smart yet so immature. He guessed that it was just nature trying to balance everything out. Sherlock clearly knew what he was thinking and he harrumphed as he passed, leaving the room in just four long strides. The doctor felt the storm brewing in the general direction of the detective. He turned back to DI Lestrade and smiled apologetically. The Detective Inspector waved away his concerns.

'We all know what he's like, Dr Watson. In fact, he's toned down quite a bit since you appeared.' The greying Scotland Yard official said as he picked up the various pieces of paper work. John nodded and exited the same way that his flatmate had before him, if without the scarf and coat tails.

* * *

><p>John stepped out into the chilling hair and looked around. Sherlock hadn't taken a cab. He didn't know why he thought that, but he did. For some reason, the doctor had a sixth sense when it came to his flatmate and, since it was the only thing he had on the man, he was going to stick with it. The soldier took a right and headed down an alleyway then looked up to the rooftops. He saw fire escape stairs and climbed up them, ignoring his shoulder which was complaining under the strain. The railing was ice cold, almost to the point where it burned his skin and he instantly regretted not bringing gloves. Once on top of the roof, he looked round, searching for the silhouette he knew he would find.<p>

Sure enough, the soldiers eyes skated across the tall figure in a long coat who was standing with his back to the blond doctor. John sighed and made his way over to Sherlock, not bothering to hide the fact that he was there. The detective didn't make any move to show that he heard the doctor approach until his flatmate was standing beside him. He turned to John.

'How did you know I was going to do that?' He asked with furrowed eyebrows. His companion smiled and Sherlock felt himself filling with warmth, as if the doctor expression itself was a high powered heater (but of course, that was impossible).

'Because I know you.' John replied softly, brushing back the hair that had wandered into the taller males eyes. The wind howled down the streets below them but only a surprisingly calm breeze whispered between the two men. Sherlock was deep in thought, staring at the soldier as if he were the most difficult puzzle in the world. John smiled again and held out a hand.

'Come on, lets go home.' He said, stepping backward. The detective pulled away slightly, looking over the edge of the two storey building, but eventually moved closer and took his flatmates hand. They both knew they'd only hold hands while on the rooftop, out of sight.

* * *

><p>Across London, in a high up office, Mycroft Holmes rested his head on his steepled fingers and smiled. <em>Out of sight indeed. <em>He chuckled to himself then turned the monitors to more pressing issues. He called his assistant to arrange transport for the good doctor. It seemed it was time for another conversation regarding his intentions with the crumbling rock that was his brother. Mycroft thought for a second before deciding that his brother wasn't a crumbling rock but more of a rock becoming molten, changing shape. If things went well, he'd be moulded into the good man that the government official hoped he would be. If not, Mycroft dreaded to think what the world would be like with three criminal geniuses to deal with- well he never had considered himself as one of the heroes.


	15. Nothing

**AN- **This is a songfic that looks into the failing relationships of Harry Watson, Greg Lestrade and John Watson. I was in a bit of a downer when I wrote this.

I don't own Sherlock. The song is 'Nothing' by The Script.

* * *

><p><span>Nothing<span>

_Am I better off dead?  
>Am I better off a quitter?<br>They say I'm better off now  
>Than I ever was with her<br>As they take me to my local down the street  
>I'm smiling but I'm dying trying not to drag my feet<em>

The stale smell of the local pub invaded Harry Watson's nostrils. She scowled but made no attempt to move. He dull, alcohol glazed eyes slowly moved about the room. Clara hadn't walked in, of course she hadn't, why would she? The screaming insults which had been thrown hours before battered Harry's head again and she felt her depression overwhelm her. Another beer was passed into her hand, she somehow found the coordination to grasp it and bring it up in the general direction of her mouth. It was just like last time and the time before, everything goes well for the first week then it all goes to shits. The elder Watson sibling snivelled. Not that any of that mattered, she just knew she needed Clara. She couldn't live without her.

_They say a few drinks will help me to forget her  
>But after one too many I know that I'll never<br>Only they can't see where this is gonna end  
>They all think I'm crazy but to me it's perfect sense<em>

A woman walked into the bar, making a beeline straight for her. Harry looked at the woman for a moment then turned back to the bar. It was Cindy, her mate.

'Come on Harry, you can't stay here. You were sober for three months.' The brunette pleaded. Harry looked at her dully.

'Where do-I go?' She slurred harshly. 'Clara doesn' wan me.' Cindy gave her a steely glare, being the stubborn Watson's friend for many years, she knew how to deal with drunken strops. She paid the barman then dragged the stumbling drunk out of the bar into the cold evening air outside.

_And my mates are all there trying to calm me down  
>'Cause I'm shouting your name all over town<br>I'm swearing if I go there nowI  
>can change her mind turn it all around<em>

'Come back to mine, you can kip there' The brunette woman said, it wasn't an offer, it was a command.

'No, I'm going to Clara. She'll understand. She has to.' Harry replied, turning herself in the direction of her house. Cindy pulled her friend back and ended up having to forcefully hold the screaming woman back. Pinning her arms and waiting patiently for the hollering, yelling, screaming to die down again.  
><em>And I know that I'm drunk but I'll say the words<br>And she'll listen this time even though they're slurred  
>So I dialled her number and confessed to her<br>I'm still in love but all I heard  
>Was nothing<em>

Back in the same pub, a greying man sat at one of the tables a little way from the bar. As a Detective Inspector for Scotland Yard, he had decided that drinking would stop him from doing his job properly and he gave it up completely but now he found himself downing his third pint of the night. He had always said that Holmes would drive him insane. It just wasn't the Holmes he expected. Deciding that he had definitely had enough to drink, Greg Lestrade stumbled out of the pub, rubbing his face roughly as he tried to sober up. From done the street he heard the high pitch screaming. The noise cut through this alcohol clouded brain which stirred slightly and told him he should find out what's wrong. He pointedly replied he wasn't on duty, as if it made all the difference, then stumbled in the opposite direction.

_So I stumble there, along the railings and the fences  
>I know if we're face to face then she'll come to her senses<br>Every drunk step I take leads me to her door  
>If she sees how much I'm hurting, she'll take me back for sure<em>

Before he knew it, Lestrade found himself in front of a posh hotel, one he could never even dream of having enough money to use but he knew who was in the penthouse of it. In his drunken state, his only thought was to go there. Make the bastard see the hurt he was causing. When he saw sense, he would taken him back, the DI knew it. Or at least his drunken self knew it. Without so much as a second thought, he began to climb the steps which lead to the front door.  
><em><br>And my mates are all there trying to calm me down  
>'Cause I'm shouting your name all over town<br>I'm swearing if I go there now  
>I can change her mind turn it all around<em>

His phone began ringing and his groaned. His hand somehow found it's way into his pocket and managed to draw it out. He squinted at the name for many minutes before giving up and pressing answer, he'd work out who it was by the voice.

'Boss? We're just calling to check up on you.' A female voice crackled on the line. After a moment, Greg identified the voice as Sally's, she was such a good worker, no matter what Sherlock said. At that just brought him back to why he was where he was in the first place. The bloody Holmes family.

'I'm fine.' He slurred. Even the silence was sceptical.

'You're drunk.' The sergeant stated. A car rushed passed outside, alerting her to the fact he was outside. 'Boss, where are you?' Both she and Anderson knew about the elder Holmes brother- and since then both always knocked and waited for a reply before walking into the DI's office- Sally herself had also worked out that Lestrade had been dumped about two days ago. Working with Sherlock, though she would never admit it, had given some deducting powers of her own. Well the man like to showboat and took great pride in showing how he got his answers, which in turn showed her where to look.

'Leave me alone S-ally.' Greg replied, his mouth hated him, it was official.

'No. You can't go and see him in that state. Tell me where you are.' From the sound of it, she was already walking to her car. She knew where he was- there was a time when the Yard had been…concerned with the bosses strange disappearances- and would be there in a few minutes tops. Greg stared at the doorway. He could go in, but his sobering thoughts were saying that Sally was right-His drunken ones were hollering at them to go the fuck away- so the detective inspector waited outside, he could always go in if he changed his mind. And Mycroft could always come out.

_And I know that I'm drunk but I'll say the words  
><em>_And she'll listen this time even though they're slurred  
>So I dialled her number and confessed to her<br>I'm still in love but all I heardWas nothing_

John Watson watched from the corner of the pub. His eyes were hooded under the influence of the frankly astounding amount of alcohol he had consumed, but he wasn't drunk. Not yet. Three Continents Watson did not declare himself drunk until a) he couldn't walk, b) the barman looked attractive and c) was hitting on every single person in range. A familiar looking brunette stormed into the pub and picked up a blond sat at the bar, dragging her out. John hadn't a clue what was happening there, and he frankly didn't care. He knew he'd gone to get drunk for a reason, but in the not-drunken haze, he'd forgotten what it was. Still, he was safe in the knowledge that there _was_ a reason so he was happy to let himself get wasted.

_She said nothing  
>Oh, I wanted words but all I heard was nothing<br>Oh, I got nothing  
>Oh, I got nothing<br>Oh, I wanted words but all I heard was nothing_

A few moments later, an older man also stumbled out of the pub. This time, John knew he recognised him. Or thought he knew anyway, pubs are dark places at half eleven at night. Still it didn't matter, he wasn't drunk enough to be gay. Yet. With a thud, the doctor realised why he was getting bladdered. That blasted flatmate of his. This time everything had been going well. Mary was amazing. She was red haired, fair skinned, gorgeous body and had the patience of an angel. She even seemed to be getting on well with Sherlock, this time John had managed to not talk about him so much, instead focusing on her. She was a primary school teacher, which was perhaps the reason she was able to be so patient with childish adults. _Ohh, sometimes love's intoxicatingOhh, you're coming down, your hands are shakingWhen you realize there's no one waiting_

But no. Sherlock had to ruin it again. John found himself wondering why Sherlock did such things, was it because he was jealous or bored? Then again, it was probably just that he found it fun to screw round with the lives of others just because he could. What was more disconcerting right now was the fact that John let him. This was the sixth consecutive time that he had let Sherlock ruin a relationship. The doctor stood shakily ad fished out his phone. Well it wasn't going to happen this time. He slipped out of the pub and turned down the nearest alleyway for a bit of quiet then he pressed call.

_Am I better off dead?  
>Am I better off a quitter?<br>They say I'm better off now  
>Than I ever was with her<em>

The next time that Harry Watson saw her ex girlfriend again was about a month later. Once sober, Cindy had convinced her to give it some time before going round. And, surprisingly, she did. Harriet found the aching in her chest was easier to deal with when she believed that she would eventually go round and everything would be alright. Clara appeared at the door. Harry smiled but the other woman didn't return it.

'I thought I told you to never come here again.' She stated emotionlessly. Harriet's smile dropped instantly.  
><em><br>And my mates are all there trying to calm me down  
>'Cause I'm shouting your name all over town<br>I'm swearing if I go there now  
>I can change her mind, turn it all around<em>

Greg Lestrade took a day off work after being driven home, there was no way he'd have been able to do his job with the amount of alcohol that was still causing through his body. After that, he was back off work. In each waking moment, it took every ounce of his self control not to flee back to the hotel and find the government official but he knew what would be said. The cold stare, chin slightly higher than usual, looking down his nose. Yes, Greg knew exactly what would happen. Not going to Mycroft was the better option, at least then he could believe that they hadn't broken up. They were just on a break. He was away on business. _Who are you trying to fool? _A whisper asked him. He ignored it and carried on sifting through the paper work.

_And I know that I'm drunk but I'll say the words  
>And she'll listen this time even though they're slurred<br>So I dialled her number and confessed to her  
>I'm still in love but all I heardWas nothing<em>

The phone call had not gone to plan. Not that John really had much hope that it would. He supposed, now that he was sadly once again sober, that it would have been better to wait until he had a certain clarity of thought before calling Mary to try and repair what they had. For one, he slurred quite a bit which would have made him hard to understand and probably made her slightly repulsed be him, but mainly it was because he ended up screeching at her and saying quite a few things that in the light of day, he'd begun to regret. Something was decided in the soldiers mind before it even became conscious thought. He packed a small rucksack with about four days worth of clothes and left. He needed a few days away. Away from the chaos, the failed relationships and most of all, Sherlock.

_She said nothing  
>Oh, I wanted words but all I heard was nothing<br>Oh, I got nothingI got nothing  
>Oh, I wanted words but all I heard was nothing<br>Oh, I got nothing_

That night, Sherlock Holmes returned to the flat. His keen eyes scanned the room, looking for any sign of life. There was none. With an almost inhuman gracefulness, he leapt up the stairs to Johns room and glanced around. The doctor, his doctor, had gone. His bag was missing, along with his gun, his dog tags and some of his clothes. Not all of them. The rest of his possessions were still there as well. The detective breathed a sigh of relief, John hadn't left properly but that didn't change the fact that he left. He had gotten fed up. Sherlock felt a pang of guilt, an awful feeling which he hadn't experienced in countless years past. It was true that he let his jealousy get the better of him, he'd dropped so many hints now but John seemed to be oblivious to every single one of them. And each time he failed, John got a new girlfriend, the girlfriend could see what he couldn't, she dumped him, John got angry and Sherlock was reminded of one thing:

_I've got nothing _

* * *

><p><strong>AN-<strong> Love? Hate? If you don't review, I'll never know.

On an unrelated note, I won't be able to post anything for a few weeks at least. I'm so sorry people, please don't kill me.

B  
>x<p> 


	16. Chess

**Chess**

**AN- **Good gosh, I'd forgotten about these little ficlets. If anyone has any prompts, drop me a line! Enjoy and please review.

* * *

><p>"Checkmate." John glared at his genius (bastard) opponent. Whose idea was it to play chess anyway? It was a stupid idea. The detective grinned like a child who had just discovered the wonders of crayons and white walls. He quickly reset the pieces on the board, setting John's pieces too when he saw the doctor wasn't doing it himself. The overgrown child stared at his flatmate with wide-eyed anticipation.<br>"I'm not playing again." John stated, standing up. He risked a look down to see a bottom lip trembling, bright eyes filling with water. Damn Sherlock and his ability to cry on command. John had suffered much worse than his, he had more that his fair share of experience with crying children that wanted something (or didn't want something as the case usually was with him, a doctors clinic was not the favourite place for young child).  
>"Not working." He chimed, as though just saying the words made it true. The puppy dog eyes vanished instantly and were replaced with the onset of the most monument strop in the history of the world. John decided that a hasty retreat was in order.<br>"I'm popping to the shop." He called, backing out the door with a grab for his jacket.

John didn't actually need anything from the shop and now that he was there, he had no idea what to get. Well milk was always sparse, he was sure that Sherlock bathed in it or something with the amount they got through in a week, and they were on the last box of tea, which contained roughly 150 teabags (which was almost crisis levels by John's standards). The doctor passed the eggs, briefly wondering how long they would be able to stay in the flat without getting smashed or experimented on. Deciding that it wouldn't be very long at all, he moved on.

Twenty minutes found John at the checkout (one with an actual person, thank you very much) with Sherlock's card in hand. The mad git had finally breached his defences about using someone else's card, saying that this was Mycroft's money in an account that he set up. Therefore, if John didn't spend it then it would fester until Sherlock got bored. And no one wanted a bored Sherlock Holmes to have access to so much cash. Still, John didn't use it often. But right now he had forgotten his wallet so the card would have to do.

Something was wrong. His 'Sherlock's done something stupid' senses were tingling. John smiled at the cashier and removed the card, his food items already in bags, and quickly exited the shop. The doctor quickened his step each time he heard a siren so by the time he reached the flat, he was close to running. The door opened easily and he raced up the stairs, kicking the door open.

The flat was… fine. Nothing was out of place or burning. There was just Sherlock and Jim sat in front of the TV, quietly playing chess. John moved into the kitchen and started packing the items away. Something was niggling at him, something obvious but he couldn't quite put his finger on-

John burst back into the living room.  
>"What the hell is he doing here?" He snapped, pointing at Moriarty. The consulting criminal smirked and leaned back, resting against one of the chairs. Sherlock turned round to face John, an innocent look across his face.<br>"I don't know whom you're referring to." He hummed. John folded his arms, a sign which the detective had categorised as 'stage 2 on John's anger meter', stage 1 being harsh words in a slightly raised voice. John stomped over (stage 4, unusual for stage 3 to not make an appearance) and stood directly beside Moriarty.  
>"Oh really? Don't give me that bullshit." (Ah, there was stage 3. Nevermind). Jim looked up to the doctor.<br>"Please, Johnny." He cooed. "We're only playing chess. You should know better than to leave him in a strop, he almost always does something untoward. Like phoning me, for instance." John glared at him. The criminal mastermind pursed his lips but kept quiet. Sherlock sniggered, but shut up when the glare was turned on him instead.

John sighed heavily.  
>"You know what? Fine! Play your damned chess then. See if I care." He huffed, storming back to the kitchen. He shouldn't have to deal with to smart-alec man-children in his own home. Dealing with Sherlock alone was enough. The soldier continued packing away the shopping; he now had a healthy 475 bags of tea. That should be enough for the next month, maybe two at a stretch.<br>"THAT'S CHEATING!"  
>"I don't know what you're talking about."<br>"John!" The doctor ignored his flatmates' childish calling, rearranging the fridge so that the milk didn't look like it was going to fall out when the fridge door opened.  
>"JOHN!" The childish whining had gained a second voice. John gritted his teeth; his knuckles turning white as he gripped onto the worktop. The two geniuses called again and he went back into the living room with the mind set to knock them both out.<p>

The two dark haired male sat on the floor with a board between them. The board wasn't for chess. John cocked his head. Where the hell had they gotten a Cluedo board from? With all the pieces. Jim was offering him the yellow piece.  
>"You can be Cornel Mustard, Sherlock is Professor Plum and I'm Reverend Green." He stated, showing the board. John was handed the cards and the slip. He looked at them questioningly.<br>"You deal and sort out the cards, Jim will cheat and I can't be bothered." Sherlock hummed, looking like he'd been coerced into this. The doctor chewed his lip in thought, was this really a good idea? It was better than letting the two children play by themselves. He shuffled and settled himself, shuffling the cards and placing one of each group in the envelope-face down.

"Sherlock, give Jim the dice."  
>"No, he moved my piece."<br>"That's part of the game, Sherlock, he's allowed to. He was accusing you."  
>"I think I'd know if I'd killed him, John."<p>

"Jim, stop it."  
>"Stop what, Johnny Boy?"<br>"You bloody well know what. Keep your bloody hands away from me."  
>"My hands aren't bloody, I cleaned them well."<p>

"John! Jim's cheating!"  
>"Well he cheated first."<br>"Did not!"

"Sherlock, the victim couldn't have killed himself."  
>"Well it's the only possible explanation."<br>"It's not even possible! It's in the rules, the victim can't kill himself."  
>"Well the rules are stupid."<p>

Jim, who had gotten rather board now, got out the jenga tower and built it up then placed the purple piece at the top and the yellow piece at the bottom. He then pulled a bottom block out, watching the tower shake. Sherlock glowered at him, knowing bloody well what the criminal was insinuating. Jim smirked as he pushed the tower, sending it and the purple piece scattering across the board.

The Cluedo board was slammed to the wall and pinned with the sharpest kitchen knife that could be found. John gave Jim a look which said 'you have three second to vacate the flat you your body will be hanging from the window', the criminal bid his farewells and left with a skip. The doctor then looked to Sherlock.  
>"We are never playing board games again."<p> 


End file.
